


Just Keep Going North

by Sometimes_All_You_Need_Is_A_Captain



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Dirty Talk, Dom Tormund, First Time, Fluff and Smut, Light Dom/sub, M/M, More characters coming in later chapters, PWP, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Post-Season/Series 08 Finale, Reunions, Sub Jon Snow, Tormund is a bad influence on me, free folk, more chapters to come but can be read as a stand alone
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-15
Updated: 2019-08-22
Packaged: 2020-09-01 06:49:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,824
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20253937
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sometimes_All_You_Need_Is_A_Captain/pseuds/Sometimes_All_You_Need_Is_A_Captain
Summary: Jon’s head is down, foraging for dry kindling, when he hears it. A subtle crunch behind him, something moving quiet and fast through the snow.“Didn’t your mother teach you not to turn your back on the wild boy?”AKA: Jon and Tormund reunite in the North. Smut ensues





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So... this was supposed to be a cute reunion story about Jon reuniting with Tormund in the North after the events in Kings Landing. And then Tormund got involved and it became much dirtier than I originally anticipated. What can I say? The man is a bad influence on me. So be warned- explicit content! Quite a lot of sex, and not much else. I blame Giantsbane :)

White. As far as the eye can see. Crunching underfoot. Collecting on shoulders. Falling effortlessly from the sky.

Cold. Biting at fingers. Stinging lungs. Seeping into blood, but not as much as it once did. Before it was debilitating, stealing, slowing. Now it was… comforting. An old friend wrapping you in its embrace once again.

And quiet. Gods how Jon has missed the quiet. Years spent in the chaos of the south, the endless castles and countless lives crammed in so tight you can barely breathe. Jon had almost forgotten the sound of silence. Out here there was nothing. Nothing except space. And time to think. Time to breathe. Time to be.

His pace is slow, but deliberately so. There is no rush anymore. After the war in the south his feet had turned north and never stopped. Past his childhood home, now a burnt shell of its former glory. Past Castle Black, a ruined keep full of ghosts and dark memories, and finally here. The true north. The real north. One of the scariest places in the world if you believe the stories. The only place Jon has ever truly felt safe.

His horse needs a rest, so Jon pulls up next to a creek and sets about finding wood for a fire. He had heard wolves the night before, howling not too far from his makeshift camp, but he’s not worried. There are far more interesting meals to be had north of the wall than a tired old crow.

Jon’s head is down, foraging for dry kindling, when he hears it. A subtle crunch behind him, something moving quiet and fast through the snow. His hand moves to the hilt of his sword but he’s too slow. The cold kiss of steal at his neck halts his movements and he freezes in place. He can hear breathing, feel the presence of someone at his back, a slight shift of pressure as the flat blade presses against his skin.

“Didn’t your mother teach you not to turn your back on the wild boy?”

Jon’s heart jumps at the sound before his brain has time to catch up. A voice he never thought he would hear again. A voice he never let himself dream he would find.

Jon spins around, blade at his neck forgotten, unable to quell the hope in his chest. When his eyes land on a wild shock of fiery orange hair and dark green eyes creased with a crooked smile, it’s all Jon can do not to tackle the other man to the ground. Jon’s hands find their way around the other man’s neck as he pulls him into a crushing hug, brain still not fully believing the sight before him. Strong arms circle his waist and pull him in tight, lifting him off the ground and engulfing him in warmth and the smell of the wild. Jon can feel the other man’s laugh reverberating through his chest, bodies crushed together so tight they are almost breathing the same air.

“I never thought I would see you again Little Crow” Tormund voice is warm against his neck as Jon buries his face in his friend’s shoulder. Tears wet his cheeks and spill into the wildling’s furs, but still Jon doesn’t let go. “Although I’ll admit I don’t much like seeing you in black again boy! Something you need to tell me?”

Now it’s Jon laughing, shaking he head and pulling back, only slightly, so he can look his best friend in the eyes while still maintaining as much contact as possible.

“Hell no! It’s just a loan. Till I can find something better. My other clothes were a little burnt” Jon shrugs, cheeks wet but still smiling from ear to ear. Tormund’s grin mirrors Jon’s as he brings a hand up from his waist and runs it through Jon’s hair, melting a few stray snowflakes that have settled there. He tucks a strand of hair behind Jon’s ear as his eyes scan Jon’s face, like he is memorizing every new scar, every old line.

“Well, I suppose you always did look good in black pretty boy”

Tormund’s fingers still on Jon’s neck, felling the pulse racing under his touch, strong as ever. Green eyes lock onto brown, both searching for signs that this is somehow not real. Both men have been burned too many times in the past to think they could ever get what they wanted without the world falling apart.

Seconds pass, minutes, and Jon is still pressed tight into Tormund’s body, smiling like an idiot as he lets his heart become accustomed to the idea that he has his wildling back. He can feel the heat radiating off the other man in waves, can feel strong muscles move beneath his furs every time Tormund runs his hand down Jon’s back, or through his hair, fingers always ending up back on his pulse point, like Tormund needs to check it’s still there.

Whatever held Jon back before, stopped him from taking that final leap, kept him dreaming and wishing and wanting but never acting, whatever that was it’s gone now. Burnt up in a war and a lifetime of regrets.

As Jon stands there now, looking up into burning green eyes, it’s the easiest thing in the world to close the last remaining space between them, to lean in and press his lips to Tormund’s. Soft, barely there, changing everything.

His heart is hammering in his ears, terrified at the mistake he could have just made, but if recent events have taught him anything, it’s that life is too fucking short to let fear make your decisions for you.

He feels more than hears Tormund’s breath hitch as their lips touch, his body going rigid against Jon’s as his hand stills its movements down Jon’s back. The fingers at Jon’s throat grip tight, not cutting off his breathing, but a warning nonetheless. Jon has never been good at heeding warnings.

His lips meet Tormund’s again, more force this time, as Jon’s own fingers crawl up into ginger hair. Jon lets his tongue dance across Tormund’s lips, asking for permission, begging for a reaction. The hand at his throat tightens still, and Jon has a second to think that maybe this is it, before Tormund is crashing into him, lips and tongue and teeth, strong hands pulling Jon against his body, removing any space left between them. Jon’s mind registers the taste of ale and woodsmoke before he is crashing to the ground. The cold hits his body like a punch, forgotten instantly as the weight of the wildling all but crushes him into the snow. His lungs are screaming for air but he ignores them, getting lost in the press of lips and the taste of the wild. Jon’s hips move of their own accord, bucking up and grinding against Tormund’s, ripping a low growl from the wildlings throat.

“Damn you boy” Tormund’s lips are at Jon’s neck, biting, sucking, marking his words into Jon’s skin. “We spend months in your damn southern castles…” Tormund’s teeth scrape against Jon’s neck, tasting every inch Jon will give him “…with your feather beds and warm hearths…” Hands find Jon’s hips, trying deftly to undo buckles and straps to get to bare skin beneath “…and you wait till now! Till we are outside in the snow in the fucking north…” Jon can feel Tormund pressing hard against him, can feel how big he is under his clothes, and Jon’s head is racing with thoughts of what could happen, what is happening. It takes him a few seconds to register that Tormund is even talking. A few more to muster a response.

“Never thought a little snow would scare a wildling”

Jon’s voice betrays his calm exterior, wrecked and broken, full of want and desire. Tormund’s laugh is low, more growl than laugh as he finally gets Jon’s cloak unbuttoned and rips the clasps from his shoulders, green eyes burning with a dangerous fire. His belt and sword are next to go, thrown haphazardly aside. Jon is vaguely aware that they are still out in the open, but his brain is finding it really hard to care.

“How far to your camp?” Jon’s hands don’t leave Tormund’s body, scrambling to find skin under fur.

“Too far” Tormund bites into Jon’s skin, eliciting a cry of pain from the younger man. Pain and something more. “You wanted wild… you got wild”

Tormund finally gets Jon’s tunic open by ripping the last few ties, need taking over his actions. Jon’s undershirt rips like paper in Tormund’s strong hands, which might have been annoying if Jon hadn’t been about to do the exact same thing. Tormund’s eyes look wild as he gazes at Jon’s body, hand resting on Jon’s neck as he holds him still. His eyes rake over every scar, every bruise still healing from battle, his other hand coming up softly to trace some of the longer lines across Jon’s skin. Jon could feel open, exposed, lying half naked in front of a fully clothed wildling, but this isn’t just any wildling. This is his wildling. His teacher, his captor, his prisoner, his warrior, his best friend. Tormund has seen him at his best and his worst, in battle and in death, been there for it all. There is nothing they don’t know about each other, a thought both freeing and equally terrifying.

Jon’s body is shivering, but not from the cold. Tormund’s fingers are moving down, down his chest, scraping lightly along ribs as they go. Fingers followed by lips, tongue, tracing hot and wet across his skin, leaving fire every place they touch, sending sparks through Jon’s blood. Tormund’s teeth scrape at his nipples, biting, licking, pulling a low moan from Jon’s kiss swollen lips as his back arches up into the contact. He can feel the wildling’s laugh ghost warm and wet against his skin as he does it again, playing over the sensitive spot, pulling more strangled noises from the younger man.

When Tormund’s fingers finally reach Jon’s waistband they still, circling just under the line of his small clothes but no further. Jon feels Tormund’s lips leave his skin and his body betrays him, hips bucking up against the man on top of him, his body aching for the other. The hand at his throat squeeze tight, stilling, owning.

“Stay” Tormund growls, sending a coil of heat directly to Jon’s painfully hard erection. Jon manages to open his eyes, staring at the wild man above him. Anyone else, and Jon might be ashamed of how quickly he is falling apart, but from the look in Tormund’s eyes, his wrecked breathing and the significant bulge in his pants, Tormund is right there with him.

Jon’s eyes are wide as Tormund reaches to his waist and takes out his dagger. Not with fear, he learnt a long time ago he didn’t have to fear this particular wilding anymore, but something darker. Jon’s body stills as he watches the light glint off the blade. He has seen this particular dagger many times before, covered in blood from a fight or gore from a hunt, but never like this. Tormund’s grin is dangerous as his eyes falls back to Jon’s, dagger clasped lightly in his hand.

“Are you going to stay still for me Little Crow?”

Jon nods, unable to speak, eyes fixed on the steel in Tormund’s hands.

“Good boy”

The blade is freezing where it presses against Jon’s neck, just like before. Tormund moves his hand away but the feeling of his fingers around Jon’s throat remain, burnt into his skin. He is slow to move the blade, careful to keep it pressed flat, never digging into the skin, dragging it slowly down, following the path of his fingers and lips before. Across Jon’s ribs, down his stomach, Jon remains completely still, body reacting under the steel in ways he doesn’t truly understand. Each breath sticks in his throat, every movement halts as his entire body focuses on the feel of metal on skin. Tormund reaches Jon’s waistband again and slowly slips the blade under the thick fabric.

“I’ve been waiting years for this Little Crow”

Tormund growls low and feral, before a quick twist of his wrist slices Jon’s pants from waist to knee in one quick motion. Jon can’t help but gasp as the cold hits his leaking cock, the destroyed fabric of his pants falling open, leaving him exposed. Before he has time to register the blade falling away forgotten into the snow, a warm hand wraps around his cock and rips a moan from deep within his chest. Tormund’s body is back, pressing his weight down on top of Jon as his hand starts to move, agonizingly slowly, covering his eager cock in precum and sweat. Lips back on his, fighting for dominance, stealing his breath. Teeth at his neck, sucking brands into his skin, and still Jon somehow manages to remain still, body trembling with the effort.

“Gods you are a good boy for me aren’t you Little Crow.” Tormund laughs dark into Jon’s skin. “Tell you what, for being such a good boy, I’ll let you move in just a minute. Can you hold still for me for a minute longer boy?”

“Yes” Jon doesn’t know if its true, but something in him desperately wants to obey.

Tormund’s hand is still moving slowly, rhythmically, as he growls in Jon’s ear.

“Are you sure? Even if I start sucking your cock?”

Jon moans loud into the cold winter air, Tormund’s words sending fire to his cock as much as his hand is.

“Fuck Tormund…” Jon is panting, struggling to breathe with the exertion of trying to remain still. He doesn’t know if he can, but every part of his body wants to, wants to please the crazy ginger wildling currently sending him insane “Yeah… I can do it”

Tormund laughs low in his belly, licking a stripe up Jon’s jugular like a wolf going in for the kill. His words are hot as they ghost over Jon’s ear.

“Here’s what I am going to do to you Little Crow…” Tormund’s hand speeds up but his voice remains calm in Jon’s ear. Honey over gravel. Blood over ice. “In a second, I am going to swallow your cock down. I am going to run my tongue across your slit, taste every inch of your pretty cock. And when I tell you to move, I want you to fuck my mouth hard and dirty. I want to feel your cock down my throat. I want to choke on it. I want to taste your cum on my tongue. I want to feel you shoot down my throat. Can you do that for me Little Crow?”

“Fuck yes” Jon chokes, voice cracking and broken. Tormund is making Jon lose his fucking mind and he’s barely even touched him yet.

Tormund’s lips crash into Jon’s in a harsh clash of tongue and teeth, biting, drawing blood, as his hand continues to apply just enough movement to keep Jon aching for more. Tormund’s eyes blaze fire as they connect with Jon’s again, blown out with lust and dark as night, before he slowly sinks down Jon’s body. The anticipation of what is about to happen has Jon’s blood on fire, pulse hammering in his ears. He can feel Tormund’s breath ghost over his overly sensitive head, a quick warm breeze, before his cock is swallowed in wet and heat.

Jon’s hips react instinctively, bucking up into the sensation, and just as quickly as it appeared it’s gone, leaving him cold and aching. His head quickly clears as he glances up into smirking green eyes.

“Shit… fuck sorry… I will be good… I promise…” Its almost pleading but Jon is too far gone to care.

Tormund’s grin never leaves his face but his head sinks back between Jon’s legs, and Jon had a second to think what a fucking incredible sight that is, orange hair burning bright against his skin, before his cock is slipping back into Tormund’s mouth. This time Jon somehow manages to remain still, forcing his body to follow Tormund’s commands. He can feel Tormund’s tongue dancing across his sensitive skin, strong muscle teasing at his slit, sending sparks of pleasure racing through his body. Jon tries to keep his eyes open, tries to savor the obscene image of his cock disappearing inside Tormund’s mouth, but the wildling’s tongue is doing things to him he can’t control and the force of trying to stay still is making his brain melt.

“Move”

That one word, growled hot against his skin, and Jon’s resolve shatters like broken glass. As soon as Tormund’s lips are back on his cock Jon’s hips are slamming up into the wildling’s mouth, driving himself so deep Tormund’s nose is pressed against Jon’s stomach. Fingers clasp in orange hair, holding him in place as Jon’s body takes over, following the heat and contact he has been aching for. Tormund’s strong hands grip Jon’s hips, leaving bruises in their wake, not trying still their erratic movements but to give the wildling some balance as he gets lost in Jon’s pleasure.

Its not long before Jon’s hips start to falter, stuttering, as his body trembles.

“Tormund… I… I’m going to…”

He doesn’t get to finish his sentence before he is exploding down Tormund’s throat, the waves of his orgasm blacking out his vision, his hand trembling where it’s still tangled in ginger hair.

Jon vaguely registers his cock falling from Tormund’s mouth, lips trailing up his chest, before his mouth is assaulted with the taste of his own cum, warm on Tormund’s tongue. It should be off-putting, but Jon finds himself chasing the taste, the salty musky taste mixing with the wildling’s own stirring fires in his blood he thought he just put out. He’s not 18 anymore, not that he ever experienced this even when he was, but gods does his cock stir when Tormund presses his still throbbing erection against Jon’s spent cock.

“Fucking hell Jon.” Tormund’s breathing is wrecked as he leans his head against Jon’s “You were so good for me. Such a good Little Crow. And fuck me… the noises you make when you cum!... fuck I almost came right here just listening to you”

Tormund rolls his hips again, pressing his achingly hard cock against Jon’s, who can’t hep but moan at the contact, the feel of fur against his exposed cock and Tormund hard as a rock underneath. Tormund is all but smothering him, laying his full weight on the younger man, but Jon’s still trembling hand manages to finds its way to Tormund’s crotch, snaking past his belts and into his pants. Shaking fingers find their mark and wrap warm around Tormund’s cock, causing the wildling’s breath to falter, eyes to drift closed as a low moan escapes his lips.

“Fuck Tormund you’re massive” Jon breaths, feeling the weight of Tormund heavy in his fingers.

“Don’t call me Giantsbane for nothing Little Crow” Tormund laughs, voice cracking at the edges. Tormund’s hips lift up instinctively to give Jon more room to move, this isn’t how it’s going to end tonight, but that doesn’t mean he can’t indulge for a few minutes.

Jon squeezes experimentally, drawing a low growl from the man above him. Jon has never been with a man before, never felt another man’s cock in his hands, but gods does it feel incredible to have Tormund right here, heavy and hot and pulsing in his hand. Jon doesn’t know what he is doing but he tries to mirror what Tormund was doing to him earlier. He moves his hand up to the head and flicks his thumb over the tip, feeling the precum leaking from Tormund’s slit. Tormund is panting in his ear, weight held on trembling arms, resting his head on Jon’s collarbone and trying not to fall apart. Jon runs his hand back down the shaft, coating Tormund in his own cum and squeezing again. The growl resonating from Tormund is feral and terrifying, but it’s not enough. Jon wants to see the other man. Wants to see exactly what he is doing to him.

Jon’s left hand comes up to Tormund’s waist band, but his fingers are shaking and he has no idea how to go about taking off the multiple layers in his way. In frustration he grabs a handful of furs at Tormund’s waist and yanks, unintentionally pulling the other man’s hips forward, running his cock deliciously hard through Jon’s tight grip.

“Off. Now” Tormund is used to being the one giving the commands, but damn if he is going to disobey when Jon’s hand is around his aching cock, squeezing him tight and hot and fucking glorious. His hands fumble with his belts and ties as Jon continues to rub circles into his skin, squeezing and flicking and pulling Tormund slowly towards the edge.

It feels like an age but finally Tormund gets the last of his ties undone, shoving his pants and small clothes down, leaving him exposed and aching in Jon’s hand. Jon’s eyes snap to Tormund’s huge cock, eyes greedy and wanting. Jon watches as Tormund’s engorged head disappears under his fingers, and reappears slowly as his hand runs the length of the rock hard shaft. Precum leaks from the slit and before Jon knows what he is doing his thumb is dragging across the sensitive spot, sending Tormund’s body stiff with the effort of trying to maintain control. A control that is quickly disintegrating. Bringing the bead of fluid up to his lips Jon sucks in Tormund’s taste, eyes closing, savoring the taste of cum on his tongue.

“Fuck” Is all Tormund manages, the image of Jon licking his cum from his fingers burnt into his brain, pumping heat straight to his already overstimulated cock.

Jon’s grin is wild, eyes burning dark as his hand finds Tormund’s cock once again and Tormund is reminded why his crow came north in the first place. Deep inside Jon has always been a wildling. Feral, untamed, free.

“Tormund” Jon’s hand is sure but his voice is cracking, ragged breaths shaking his body as his eyes flick from Tormund’s cock to his lips to his eyes, like he can’t decide which he wants to devour more. “I want to make you cum. Want to watch you cum”

A few minutes later and Tormund might have been lost to the idea, might have let himself tumble over the edge and cum right there in Jon’s hand. But he’s been waiting too long for this, spent too many nights with his own hand wrapped around his cock imagining how it could be. Spent too long aching, wanting, fucking black haired girls with someone else’s name on his lips. Too long to fall at the last hurdle.

It takes all the resolve Tormund has left to take Jon’s hand off his cock and pin it above the younger man’s head, both wrists caught in one strong grip. Jon’s protests die in his throat as lips crash into his, stealing his breath and drawing blood. Tormund whispers against Jon’s lips, nipping, licking, silencing.

“Oh you will Little Crow. Don’t you worry. But tonight, you are mine. And my cock aint done with you yet.”

Tormund takes a few deep breathes, hot and wet against Jon’s neck, savoring the smell of their shared sweat and the taste of Jon underneath, giving the wildling a brief moment to regain some of his composure. Regain some of his control. When he catches Jon’s gaze again, green eyes are dark as the night. Feral and dangerous.

Tormund’s left hand is occupied pinning Jon’s wrists above his head, so he uses his right to grab Jon’s hips and still their movement. Like a cat stretching in the morning sun Tormund arches his back, brushing his bare cock ever so lightly against Jon’s own. Its hard and hot and dirty and possibly the most incredible this Jon has ever felt. His hips try to move but Tormund’s strong hand keeps them clamped in place. Tormund does it again, grinding the cocks together with more force this time, laughing low and loud as Jon’s head cracks back against the snow, moan escaping his bleeding lips. His hips start a slow rhythm against Jon, dragging their skin together deliciously, deliberately.

“You feel that” Tormund pants in Jon’s ear as he rubs his cock deliberately over Jon’s leaking head, feeling Jon’s cock pulse hot against his own. “It’s aching for you. It’s leaking for you.” Tormund is dripping precum and Jon moans as he feels it slick up and down his own cock. Tormund’s voice is a low growl in his ear, breath hot and ragged against his skin. “I want to fuck you with my massive cock. I want to split you open. I want to fuck you into the ground until you cum untouched, impaled on my cock. I want to milk you dry and hear you scream my name for all the north to hear.” Tormund’s words spark fire in Jon’s blood, his cock jumping at every filthy image flashing up in his brain, every dirty thought he has ever had spilling from the lips of his wildling. “But before I can do that Little Crow, I need to stretch you open. I need to fuck you with my fingers until you are begging me for it. Until your body is on fire and all you can think about is my cock filling you up. My massive cock spilling cum deep inside you, fucking you open so you will feel me inside you for days.”

Tormund’s hand leaves Jon’s trembling hips and gives his cock an experimental squeeze. It leaps in Tormund’s fingers, already hard as a rock against Jon’s belly.

“Fuck Little Crow! You are leaking just thinking about it aren’t you? Just thinking about my cock buried deep in your ass. Me filling you up. Filling your insides with cum”

“Fuck Tormund you’re killing me”

“Maybe that’s my intention Little Crow.”

Tormund give Jon’s cock another squeeze, collecting some precum leaking from his slit, before bringing his fingers up to Jon’s kiss swollen lips.

“Suck”

Jon doesn’t need to know why, he follows the command instantly, tongue running hungrily over Tormund’s thick fingers, tasting himself on the wildling’s skin. Tormund’s own cock aches as he watches, Jon’s eyes closed, tongue working his fingers. As much as he is enjoying watching Jon fall apart, Tormund is dangerously close to losing it himself, mind reeling with the possibilities, the power, the need to have Jon every way he has ever wanted.

When Tormund’s fingers slip from Jon’s mouth with an obscene noise, split slick, Tormund can’t help but claim Jon’s mouth with his own once more, tongue fighting to find the taste of Jon again. His hand deftly makes its way between Jon’s legs, fighting to not touch his own aching erection. Tormund forces Jon’s hips to still, mirroring bruises already forming from earlier. When his right finger brushes oh so gently against Jon’s hole, the younger mans eyes spring open, shock and desire warring with his features.

Tormund’s smile is feral as he does it again, a gentle sweep over Jon’s entrance.

“You ready Little Crow? You ready to feel me inside you?” Tormund keeps talking as his finger brushes Jon’s hole again, this time staying close and brushing in small circles over and over the entrance. “You ready to feel me stretching you open? Ready to feel my thick fingers pushing inside you?” The tip of Tormund’s fingers pushes in ever so slightly, Tormund’s eyes fixed on Jon’s face to gauge his reaction. He pulls away, and again presses in every so gently, just a tiny bit further. “Can you feel how my finger slides against you Little Crow? How your spit and cum make it feel so good against your hole. Can you feel that?” Jon’s eyes are shut but he nods, pushing his hips down against Tormund’s finger, pushing it inside himself that little bit more. “Yes, that’s it Little Crow. Can you feel that? How good it feels when its inside you.” Jon nods and pushes his hips down again, pushing Tormund inside himself even further. “Yes Little Crow, just like that. Fuck yourself on my fingers. Gods you are aching for it already aren’t you?” Jon’s shaking hand finds Tormund’s where it is pressed between his legs, and grabs the other man’s wrist. Tormund is momentarily afraid that Jon is yanking him away, but that thought dies when Jon roughly shoves Tormund’s finger inside him all the way to the hilt. Both men still, Jon from the strange sensation of being filled, Tormund from the force of trying not to cum at the sight of Jon shoving Tormund’s own hand inside himself.

When Tormund starts talking again his voice is a pitch lower and his breath is shaking.

“Fuck Jon.” He whispers, trying in vain to collect his thoughts, when Jon experimentally rolls his hips, and Tormund is again left aching at the sight of his finger disappearing inside his crow. Jon pulls Tormund’s wrist away slightly, moving the finger buried deep inside him, before pushing it back in agonizingly slowly. Tormund has to bite down on Jon’s shoulder blade to stop himself slamming his hand back inside. The arm he is using to hold himself up starts to shake with the effort. “damn you Little Crow” Words growl against Jon’s shoulder “Do you have any idea what you’re doing to me?”

Green eyes meet brown, and Jon’s lips smash into Tormund’s, before Jon moves their hands again, marveling at the intense feeling it sends spiraling through his body; It’s good, it’s really good, but its not quite enough. Jon squirms a little on Tormund’s finger, trying to find a better angle, but it’s still not enough.

“Let me guess boy. One finger isn’t really doing it for you. You need more. You want more. You want something bigger inside that tight hole of yours”

“Fuck yes” How can Tormund read his mind like this?

“Well then” Tormund growls into Jon’s ear as he presses a second finger inside. “I have something bigger for you Little Crow.” Jon moans at the intrusion, the stretch more painful that the first but so much better in ways he can’t get his head around. His hand falls away, coming to rest on Tormund’s bicep, gripping so tight its sure to leave a mark. Tormund slowly moves his fingers in and out of Jon’s hole as he talks, twisting and turning them inside Jon to pull such beautiful sounds out of his crow. “My cock will stretch you open so good Little Crow. I am already dripping wet just watching you. My cock will slide right inside you, my precum dripping all over your greedy hole, you will be so slick for me boy.” Tormund adds another finger, feeling Jon’s body still at the pain for a second, before his hips begin moving even more forcefully, pulling Tormund deeper inside. Tormund’s grabs Jon’s hips and holds his fingers in as deep as he can go, moving his fingers around inside until he finds it. Jon screams as Tormund brushes over his prostate, hole constricting around Tormund’s fingers as pleasure sparks through his body.

“You like that Little Crow?” Tormund laughs, intentionally missing the spot before drilling it again with his fingers. Jon’s eyes screw shut and his breathing stops, body tensing and releasing like an orgasm, but not quite there yet “You like me fucking you with my thick fingers boy? You like squirming on my hand, fucking yourself down, trying to find that spot?” He waits a beat before brushing over Jon’s prostate again, making the younger man shake with pleasure “Is this what you want Little Crow?” Again Tormund brushes it, again and again “You want to cum on my fingers? You want to cum like this Little Crow?”

Jon is losing his mind. He has never felt anything like this, the pain of the stretch mixed with the insane pleasure Tormund is inflicting on him, one countering the other to build and build and build and still not break. He knows he could, could cum like this, but that’s not what he needs right now.

“No! No… need you to fuck me. Need to feel your cock inside me. Need you to do everything you said you would. Need you to fill me. Need you to cum inside me” Jon is rambling but he doesn’t care. Tormund is relentless and Jon’s mind is spiraling out on control.

“As you wish Little Crow” Tormund kisses against Jon’s thigh and slowly removes his fingers, the younger man whimpering at the loss.

Jon is still rambling “Need you. Fuck me, I need you” as Tormund lines himself up with Jon’s abused hole. He is stretched pretty well from his fingers, but as Jon pointed out earlier Tormund is pretty fucking big, so it’s still going to hurt.

“Are you ready for this Little Crow? You ready to feel what a man’s cock feels like inside you?”

“Fuck Tormund do it!”

Tormund’s laugh is low, and Jon can feel it shaking his body even as he presses against his hole. Damn Tormund is so much bigger than his fingers. Tormund presses in agonizingly slowly but keeps moving, Jon stretching around him more than he thought possible and then some. Its painful, its really painful. Jon’s fingernails dig into Tormund’s back as tears spill from his closed eyes.

“That’s it Little Crow, you are doing so well.” Tormund’s voice is as wrecked as Jon’s as he keeps pushing inside, resting his head against Jon’s shoulder to try to stop his arms from shaking. “You are so fucking tight around me Little Crow. Feel so fucking good” Tormund finally pushes all the way inside, using all his energy to stop himself from moving, trying to let Jon get accustomed to the sensation. He loses his battle, his own hips betraying him and rolling in a deep circle, somehow moving his cock even further inside his crow.

Jon’s back arches and his cock jumps against his stomach.

“Do that again”

Tormund complies and Jon’s whole body shivers as he cries out.

“You like that boy?” Tormund rolls his hips again as Jon pushes himself back down on Tormund’s cock, ripping moans from both men. “You like that? Feeling me split you open. Feeling me move inside you” Tormund continues to pump his hips into Jon, panting against Jon’s ear as his own orgasm builds deep and hot. “You are so damn tight Little Crow. So damn hot. The way you move. The way your body shudders when I hit that secret spot inside you. You are mine. You hear that. Mine. No-one else gets to have you. Only my cock gets to split you open. Only I get to taste your cum. You are my Little Crow. Mine.” Tormund is growling now, hips lost all semblance of rhythm, just pounding away as Jon falls apart beneath him. Jon’s hands are pulling Tormund as close as he can, skin on skin, sweat on sweat, as much contact as he can get. In his mouth, on his skin, inside his body, all he can feel, all he can taste is Tormund as his blood burns with the fire of it. So close, so close.

“Yours” Jon moans against Tormund’s skin, that one word sending the other man tumbling over into oblivion. Tormund’s hips stutter as his orgasm racks through his body. Jon can feel Tormund pulsing deep inside him, pulling Jon down with him, waves of pleasure taking over Jon’s exhausted body. Tormund moans as Jon squeezes around him, milking his pulsing cock for all its worth as he listens to Jon’s orgasm take him, his cock making a valiant effort to cum again even just moments after he spilled deep inside his crow.

Their ragged breathing is the only sound to be heard for a while, as the two men try and fail to regain some form of composure. Tormund reluctantly pulls out of Jon and crashes onto their abandoned furs, body exhausted and already starting to burn with the over exertion. Jon’s body is still shuddering, the aftermath of his orgasm ricocheting around his body. Tormund’s arms wrap around Jon and haul him in to a fierce hug, arms and legs wrapped around as tight as they can go. Jon can hear Tormund’s heart racing in his chest, can feel as his breathing slowly starts to come back to normal.

“Fuck Jon. That was… fuck.” Tormund’s fingers absentmindedly rake through Jon’s hair as he holds him to his chest.

“Worth waiting for?” Jon laughs, pushing himself up so he can look his wildling in the eyes.

The grin on Tormund’s face is warm and genuine, eyes wide as he stares in wonder at the man before him.

“Worth going to hell for” Tormund pulls Jon down to him, lips pressing so soft, so tentative against Jon’s its hard to imagine his is the same mouth that was spouting such filth moments ago. Jon lets himself get lost in Tormund once again, heart somehow still not able to accept that he is allowed this, that it’s not going to be taken away the second he turns his back. That despite everything he has done, everything he has seen, somehow, he has ended up here of all places, with a man that by all rights should have killed him years ago, and that finally, finally, he is free.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Lie down”
> 
> Two words from Jon; a command, an expectation. Surprise flashes in Tormund’s eyes, surprise and defiance. He is used to being the one in control, the one setting the rules, the one in charge. For a second, he stands still, eyes locked with Jon’s, searching, questioning. Jon stares straight back, brown eyes dark and fierce.
> 
> Aka: Under the northern lights, Tormund gets a taste of his own medicine.

The snow gets heavier the further north they venture, a light flurry turning to a blanket under their feet. Jon’s horse finds the going tough, but he doesn’t have the heart to leave her. Southern horses don’t last long in the north.

“If you can feed it you can keep it” is Tormund’s measured response, unknowingly echoing Ned Stark's own words from a lifetime ago, from the night Jon found ghost tiny and shivering in the snow.

Despite the worsening conditions, the storm threatening to break all around them, Jon can’t wipe the smile off his face. His heart feels alive. He can finally breathe. He is finally home.

They find Tormund’s pack stashed high in a tree a mile out, the wildling preferring to hunt light and quick when he gets close to his quarry. They are both rangers after all. They put a few more miles under their feet before the sun begins to bleed from the sky, falling into a comfortable silence broken by the crunch of snow and the occasional sound of wildlife alive in the forest around them.

A brief disagreement about the benefits of high ground verses the safety of tree cover ends in lips and teeth and sweat, and their camp decision is made for them as their distraction costs them the last of the light.

“Wanted to camp here anyway” Tormund’s voice is hot in Jon’s ear as fingers find already torn clothing and nails sink into soft skin beneath. It’s hot and rough and deliciously violent as Tormund takes Jon hard and fierce against a tree, the other man’s arousal seeming to burn through him like wildfire, smoldering coals to full blown destruction in seconds. Jon’s head is lost in the storm, only coming back to himself after Tormund has blurred his vision and brought them both to climax. His hands shake even after his breathing has returned to normal.

That night Jon falls asleep to the soft sound of Tormund’s breath, strong arm heavy and warm around his waist, pulling his back tight against Tormund’s chest. His beard tickles the back of Jon’s neck every time the wildling moves or mutters something low in a foreign tongue against Jon’s skin. When Jon’s dreams finally take him, they are of wildfire in the mountains and burning green eyes.

* * *

A sharp noise wakes Jon, eyes snapping open, body bolting upright in the cramped space of their makeshift tent. His fingers find steel instantly, closing around a blade even as his brain is trying to make sense of the space at his back where there should be the warm press of skin. The knife is out in front of him, sure and steady in his hands even as his eyes struggle to adjust to the mottled dark.

A soft huff of laughter, and Jon releases a breath he didn’t know he was holding. Eyes struggle to make out a shape at the door; a warm smile, a shock of orange.

“Damn little crow! Don’t jump out ya skin. Its just me.”

Jon’s heart is hammering in his chest as he slowly lowers the knife back to the floor.

“Damn it Tormund! The fuck you doing out there?”

“Man’s gotta pee sometime.”

Jon shakes his head as he runs a shaking hand through his own hair. Years spent at war, watching his back, looking for enemies at every turn, apparently that life hasn’t quite left him yet.

Tormund is still chuckling lightly where he is crouched at the door to their shelter.

“Seeing as you’re awake now, come with me Little Crow. There’s something I want to show you.”

“If it’s your cock I am sure I can see it just fine in here.”

Tormund’s laugh is loud and beautiful, melting Jon’s still racing heart.

“Its not my cock. Well… at least that’s not the only thing I want to show you.”

Tormund’s eyes are wide, his smile genuine. Even in his exhausted state Jon can’t deny him anything. Moving sleep slow, Jon grabs a couple of furs to wrap around himself as he struggles out into the biting cold. He shoves his feet into snow soaked boots and looks around into the night.

“This had better be good” Jon mumbles to the cold air

Tormund’s hand finds Jon’s buried deep inside furs, and wraps it up in his own calloused fingers.

“Just you wait Snow. Follow me”

Jon follows his wildling through the snow, eyes slowly picking out more shapes in the dark as they grow accustomed to the low light. Tormund is taking them uphill slightly, to an opening in the trees a few hundred meters away from their camp. When they reach the clearing, Jon looks around, trying to spy what ever it is that got Tormund’s attention in the middle of the night.

“I can’t see anything”

Tormund’s strong hands wrap around his waist from behind, pulling Jon solid and warm into his chest. Lips find Jon’s ear and whisper soft.

“Look up”

When Jon’s eyes meet the sky, his breath is stolen for the second time since waking that night. The sky is alive with blue and green, colours swirling and dancing across the night, bathing the entire forest around them in an eerie green glow. Colours flicker and flash across the sky, merging and separating, waves splashing against some invisible shore, power and light flowing through the air miles above their heads. Its ethereal. Its magic. Its unlike anything Jon has ever seen.

Lips touch his throat, Tormund pressing soft kisses to already bruised and bitten skin. Jon’s head rests against Tormund’s shoulder as his eyes angle up towards the sky, trying to take in the sight above him, straining his neck and giving the wildling more room to leave his mark. Tormund gets lost in the scent of his crow, lost in the slow press of lips to skin, the warmth of the body held against him.

Jon’s voice is quiet, not wanting to break the stillness of the moment, the magic that has settled around them.

“What is it?”

Jon can feel the other man smile against his skin.

“It’s the North little crow. It’s the North welcoming you home.”

Tormund’s voice is full of wonder as he squeezes Jon back against him. The wildling has never spoken of gods, of magic, of anything other worldly with anything less than contempt, but now, here, in this place, Jon can hear something else behind the man’s words. Admiration, respect, fear? Emotions colouring his words and sneaking around the edges of his tough exterior. Hands slide down his waist and pull his hips back against strong muscles. Even through his furs Jon can feel Tormund pressing hard against his ass.

“Really?” Jon huffs a small laugh, but he really isn’t complaining.

“What!? The sky is on fire. How is that not a turn on?”

Jon really can’t argue with that. He rolls his hips experimentally and Tormund growls into his ear, shifting himself back against Jon. Fingers dig further into Jon’s hips when he moves again. Lips turn to teeth at his neck, Tormund’s breath getting more unsteady as Jon continues to grind against him.

Turning in his grasp Jon captures Tormund’s lips with his own, dropping most of his own furs to the floor in favour of chasing the heat of the other man. Fingers snake up into orange hair, pulling Tormund closer, wanting to taste more of his wildling, wanting to feel more. When they finally pull apart, they are both gasping for air. Tormund’s eyes are blown dark with lust even as the green light still dances off his cheeks. Jon thinks it’s the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen.

“Lie down”

Two words from Jon; a command, an expectation. Surprise flashes in Tormund’s eyes, surprise and defiance. He is used to being the one in control, the one setting the rules, the one in charge. For a second, he stands still, eyes locked with Jon’s, searching, questioning. Jon stares straight back, brown eyes dark and fierce.

Tormund has never been told what to do, never followed any direction other than his own, but the idea of letting Jon take the lead, letting Jon take what he wants, letting Jon use him how he wants, that sparks something deep inside Tormund he didn’t know was there. He always knew his crow had a dark side, had a wild side, but seeing it burning fierce in his eyes, Tormund has never been so turned on.

Tormund lets himself sink to the ground, eyes fixed on Jon as he does. The man is covered in snow by the time he is lying on his back, propped up on one arm, eyes burning bright and excited as he stares up at his crow. He’s clearly unaware of how adorable he looks, a true wildling in his element.

Green eyes staring up at him, expectant, wanting, waiting, and Jon can feel the surge of power going straight to his groin. He wants to do so many things to this man, wants to take him to pieces, watch him fall apart, wants to worship him, but right now all he can think is he needs skin on skin, needs to taste Tormund under his lips, on his tongue, needs to make the other man feel as destroyed as Tormund makes him feel every time they touch. 

Slowly, carefully, Jon starts to untie his shirt. He is wearing a thin undershirt he picked up in the south that fastens with 4 ties at the front. Impractical in the frozen north as it lets the warm air escape your body too easily, but perfect for what Jon has planned right now.

“You know, nights at the wall can get really lonely…”

His voice is conversational, but his eyes are dark with hidden fire as his fingers dance over his shirt, being slow and methodical with every tie.

“and sometimes, when it was quiet, and I was alone, I would let my mind wander.” Second tie undone, fingers dancing over exposed skin while moving down.

“I would think about what it might be like to break my vows, to lay with a woman.” Third tie undone, only one left intact. “What it might feel like to have her hands on me, her lips on me, feel her skin hot and sweaty against mine” His shirt falls open, revealing nipples peaked with the cold and arousal.

Tormund is lost in Jon’s words, transfixed by the movement of the other man’s hands. How can watching someone take their shirt off be so damn mesmerizing. He wants to touch him, wants to kiss him, bite him, fuck him, but something in Jon’s eyes keeps him rooted to the spot. Jon shrugs his shirt from his shoulders and lets it fall to the ground, cold forgotten against burning skin, muscles in his arms rippling in the northern light.

“I would imagine what it would feel like to fuck someone, to have my cock buried deep inside them.” As he talks Jon lets his hand brush lightly over his chest, tickling his abs slowly as he traces up his ribs, fingers stopping to play with a nipple absentmindedly.

“Sometimes I would even let my hands wander” Catching Tormund’s eyes through dark lashes Jon’s grin is dangerous as his hand slowly starts to move south, running down the dark hair tracing a line down his chest. Down past his navel, down to the makeshift tie holding his destroyed pants together. His fingers brush over the tie, playing with it but not yet undoing.

“I would touch myself and think what it might feel like if it was someone else” Jon’s fingers play underneath his waist band, scratching a nail over sensitive skin, leaving red lines in its wake. “and you know what. It never really did anything for me. Never really saw the point” Fingers pull one end of the tie agonizingly slowly, so slowly Tormund can almost hear the sound of fabric brushing against fabric “That is, until I met you.”

Gravity finally takes over and Jon’s pants fall to the ground, leaving him naked and stunning in front of his wildling. He seems completely unashamed of his body, of his aching arousal standing rigid and flushed against his stomach. Green light dances off his pale skin, casting him in an almost ghostly glow. Tormund is pretty sure he’s stopped breathing. 

Lucky for Jon the dark hides the blush in his cheeks. He has no idea where these words are coming from, he just started talking and now he can’t stop, but if the look on Tormund’s face is anything to go by, his unbidden monologue is having the desired effect. 

Jon steps out of his pants without a second thought, moving closer to where Tormund is sprawled out on the snow. He doesn’t know what it is about this man, but he makes him do things he could never have dreamed of. Jon takes a shaky breath before he continues. One foot either side of Tormund’s legs brings him close enough to feel the other man’s breath warm on the night air. Close enough to see the fire feral in emerald eyes. Jon’s fingers trace small circles on his hips, before trailing along his groin, brushing his inner thigh, oh so softly, inching closer. Tormund’s eyes are burning holes in Jon, fixed on the movements of his fingers, while his own hands are balled into fists at his sides, nails drawing blood with the force of not reaching up and grabbing Jon.

“Until I met you, I didn’t know what it was like to want someone to fuck me”

Jon finally lets himself grasp his own aching cock, hips jumping slightly at the contact, eyes fluttering at the sensation. Tormund growls hungrily, licking his lips like a wolf over his kill. Tormund’s fingers ache at his sides, wanting to reach out and grab his crow, pull him down and take him right there in the snow, but he doesn’t. He makes himself wait, for now.

“The first time, I thought it was a mistake.” Now as Jon speaks, his hand makes lazy movements up and down his shaft, being careful not to build too much tension, only enough to keep him on the edge.

“How could thinking about you get me so hard? A rough, dirty, feral wildling.” Tormund’s eyes flicker between watching Jon’s cock disappear in his hand and the devilish glint in his crow’s eyes. Jon is mesmerized by how visibly Tormund is falling apart in front of him, cheeks flushed, breath ragged and fast, eyes watching his cock eagerly. He is making to too easy to play with him.

“So I tried it again.” Jon sinks down to his knees, straddling Tormund’s hips, cock still hard and leaking in his hand, not resting his weight on the man but rather keeping his hips up, tantalizingly close to Tormund’s chapped lips.

“I lay down, let my fingers grasp my cock, and thought about what it might feel like if it was your hand instead of mine.” Jon leans in even closer so he can lick a stripe up Tormund’s neck before whispering in his ear.

“I came so hard I woke up half the watch.”

A feral noise escapes Tormund’s mouth, half growl half snarl. His mind is spinning at the mental image of a younger Jon, black cloak disheveled at his back, hand covered in cum with Tormund’s name on his lips. Damn its enough to make any man lose it

“Jon… careful…”

Tormund’s voice is breaking, a deep rumble in his throat. Jon smirks into Tormund’s skin and bites down hard. A little pay back for the other night.

“The next time, I thought about your mouth” Jon continues despite Tormund’s weak protests. He never thought words could have so much affect, but damn it’s making his blood run hot just watching Tormund lose it.

“I thought about what your lips might feel like on my cock. Free folk don’t kneel you kept telling me, but maybe… just maybe… I could get you on your knees with my cock in your mouth. How beautiful you would look… kneeling for me… cum dripping from your lips”

This close, Jon is brushing Tormund’s own aching erection every time he moves his hand, pulling stifled gasps from the man underneath him. Jon can feel Tormund hard as a rock under his furs. He intentionally rolls his knuckles over him on his next pull, eliciting yet another low growl from the wildling.

“That time I came even faster.”

Jon’s left hand finds Tormund’s waist and starts undoing his pants. Its an awkward angle but luckily this time Tormund is only wearing his night clothes, so Jon doesn’t need to unclasp 4 different sword belts to get at what he wants. Tormund’s pants fall open with ease, cold night air hitting the already wet head of his trembling cock. The wildling’s eyes snap to Jon’s, needing, wanting, begging. His eyes blown black with lust, knuckles white with the strain of holding himself back.

“I imagined what it would feel like if you fucked me. What you would fell like inside me” Jon is still whispering in Tormund’s ear as he grasps Tormund’s cock in his hand along with his own. His hand isn’t quite large enough to encircle them both fully, but gods the slick slide of warm, soft skin against Tormund’s painful erection rips a strangled noise from the older man. His hands spring up to the back of Jon’s thighs, unable to keep away any longer, rocking Jon further into him. His nails dig into soft flesh, leaving crescent red marks in their wake. His grip is bruisingly hard, but he doesn’t take over, not yet, hands simply anchoring him in place as Jon’s hips move slowly against his own, achingly slowly.

“I would try to picture what your cock would look like, heavy and throbbing, waiting to split me open. I never imagined you would be this big.” Jon squeezes Tormund against himself, hand slick with a mix of both men’s precum.

“I even tried it you know, slid a finger inside, imagined it was you.” Tormund’s groan rumbles through his chest at the thought as Jon smirks into his skin “Doesn’t compare to the real thing, but a green boy at the watch doesn’t know much different. Still made me cum hard and hot in my hand”

Jon has to slow his own hand. He is getting distracted. He can feel his orgasm building in his gut, coiling deep and hot, sparking through his blood, but he doesn’t want to get there yet. Oh no. There is so much more he wants to do tonight. He lets his cock fall free of his fingers and instead focuses his attention on Tormund’s erection, running his fingers across his dripping slit and feeling the other man quiver in his palm. Tormund is still almost fully clothed and sweating through his furs, but he doesn’t have the brain capacity to care. His mind is fried, his attention solely focused on Jon, his words, his fingers, his breath warm and wet on his neck, his skin burning hot under Tormund’s numb fingers, his body beautiful and alive in his lap. They could be attacked by wolves that very second and Tormund would barely notice. 

“You know what else I thought about” Jon is relentless, filling Tormund’s head with filth as his hand works him slow. “I imagined what you would taste like. What it would feel like to have your cock on my tongue, filling my mouth. How you would taste shooting down my throat.” Jon can feel Tormund’s breath hitch every time his hand flutters over his head, can feel the man’s nails bite into his skin. He can tell he is getting close, edging closer to the fire. Right where Jon wants him.

Jon sits his weight down in Tormund’s lap, letting go of his cock with an obscene slap. He captures Tormund’s mouth in a bruising kiss, teeth and tongue and need claiming the other. When Tormund opens his eyes, he is met with a dangerous grin, and the devil looking out behind blown brown eyes.

“I always imagined your cock would taste of wildfire and wood smoke. Think its about time to find out if I was right, don’t you?”

Tormund can do nothing other than nod, eyes wide with wonder as Jon crawls down his body, shuffling himself back till he is sitting between Tormund’s legs. Again, Jon has no fucking idea what he is doing, but somehow, he is getting less and less nervous about being clueless. Everything he does with Tormund comes from somewhere primal, driven by need rather than his head, so its easy to just let go and let his body take over.

His lips press soft to Tormund’s hip, fingers pushing furs out of his way to give his lips more skin to taste. Tormund relaxes down to the ground, shaking arms unable to hold him up any longer, no even registering where his skin touches snow strewn haphazardly over his furs. He could be lying on a glacier and he wouldn’t care. Jon’s tongue licks a trail down, across coarse orange hair, until his nose brushes the soft skin of Tormund’s waiting cock. Jon was right, he smells like sweat and smoke and its heady and intoxicating. With a confidence bordering on hunger, Jon licks a stripe up Tormund’s cock, finally tasting the wildling on his tongue. Tormund growls low and deep, fingers finding Jon’s shoulder as he tries and fails to stop his body reacting. Jon’s tongue finds its mark again, this time flicking experimentally across the head. If the noises coming from the wildling are anything to go by, it has the desired effect.

Jon gives Tormund a moment to relax, a second for their eyes to meet across an expanse of fur and naked flesh before Jon wraps his lips around Tormund and swallows him down. Tormund’s body ignites, hips reflexively jerking up into the wet heat enveloping him. Its rough and obscene and Tormund’s mind blurs at the edges as Jon’s tongue works his cock like he was born to it. Fire ignites in his veins, and it’s all Tormund can do to cling to Jon’s shoulder, nails digging into soft skin, trying to anchor himself, trying desperately to stop the spiral of orgasm that is threatening to race through him. He wants to stay here, in this moment, forever; surrounded by fire in the sky, fire in his lungs, fire engulfing them both.

After a minute, an hour, too soon, Tormund feels Jon’s lips leave him, wet heat replaced with the biting cold of the frigid night air. A whimper is torn from his lips at the loss of contact, fingers curling in to a fist where they were lost in dark hair. His eyes open to find Jon’s, glinting dark in the eerie green light, question and want blazing is equal measure across Tormund’s puzzled face.

“Wildfire and woodsmoke. Just like I thought” Jon licks his lips as he smirks and crawls back up his wildlings body, lips and teeth biting and kissing burning skin on his path upward. He repositions himself so he is straddling Tormund’s hips, kneeling up so his skin is just barely touching the other. One hand braces his weight just above Tormund’s shoulder, while the other reaches beneath him to grasp Tormund’s aching erection again. Spit slick skin slides effortless in his hand, and Tormund’s head slams back against the floor, back arching into Jon’s touch. Tormund’s words of protest at the loss of Jon’s lips die on his tongue, replaced with a low guttural sound vibrating through his body.

“You don’t know how many nights I stayed awake dreaming of this. Of having you underneath me, surrounding me, inside me.” As Jon speaks, he shuffles slightly higher up Tormund’s body, lining himself up with Tormund’s leaking cock while his words ghost over Tormund’s skin. “Gods Tormund you have no idea what you did to me, just seeing you around camp made me hard and wet imagining you inside me, riding me, taking me. Gods when you were in chains at Castle Black, I knew I was going to hell but I couldn’t help how hard it made me, seeing you strapped down, iron against your skin, iron at your throat, all I wanted was for you to take me right there against the bars”

Jon’s words add yet another layer of fog to Tormund’s already blurry mind. His breathing is heavy, body shaking with desire and his futile attempts to still his racing pulse. His fingers grip iron strong against Jon’s thighs, anchoring Tormund to something lest he get lost in the fire burning inside him. He is vaguely aware of Jon moving, of Jon’s lips at his throat, words coming out hot and wet against his neck, teeth drawing blood where they graze his pulse point, Jon’s hand on his cock, sliding, twisting, pulling him further under. He is drowning in Jon, in his heat, his sweat, his words. He is lost under Jon’s hands, and he can’t think of any place in the world he would rather be.

Somewhere beneath the heat Tormund registers Jon’s body moving, hand repositioning to brace his weight on Tormund’s ribs, thighs spreading further apart where they brace around Tormund’s hips. Tormund’s mind is lost to the meaning of it all, melted under Jon’s attention, until he feels the heat of Jon’s entrance pressing against the sensitive head of his cock.

Tormund’s eyes snap open, hands grasping at Jon’s hips to still his movement where Jon is poised above him. Fear and desire war in his eyes, confusion and craving in equal part.

“Jon wait… you’re not ready…”

Jon smiles golden at the man underneath him, so clearly undone and utterly destroyed but still thinking of Jon’s comfort before his own pleasure.

“You fucked me good and open only a few hours ago Wild Thing. Can still feel your cum inside me”

Tormund still looks unsure, teeth worrying at his lower lip, not noticing when they draw blood, his body so heightened and wrecked.

“It’ll hurt Little Crow…”

Jon’s smile is predatory, eyes burning dark through his lashes. Tormund can’t imagine how he ever thought this boy innocent.

“Good”

Jon sinks himself down onto Tormund’s cock, and all Tormund’s protests are lost to the delicious glide of skin on skin, and the incredible feel of his crow enveloping him. His cock is slick with spit and dripping precum, but it still burns Jon hot and painful as it stretches him open. Tormund’s hands shake where they grip Jon’s hips, no longer stopping his movement but straining with the effort of not pulling him in closer, not slamming him down and burring himself as deep as he can go. Jon moves slowly, letting his body get used to the stretch before dropping himself lower. Sweat beads on his brow, eyes closed in pain as he wills his body under his control, fighting the pain and finding the sweet pleasure underneath.

“Gods Jon… so tight… you’re so fucking tight… I’m gunna tear you apart boy”

“No you’re not Wild Thing. You were made for me… Made to own me… made to take me”

Jon finally bottoms out, impaling himself fully on Tormund’s massive cock. His breathing is just as wrecked as the older man’s, nails digging into ribs as he steady’s himself, muscles in his legs quivering from holding his weight up, from fighting the desire to slam himself down fast and hard the instant he felt Tormund pressing as his entrance. He doesn’t know much about this, about laying with another man, but he has to assume that would hurt.

After a few wracked breaths, Jon is able to open his eyes, and he catches emerald eyes staring at him, honest and open, desire dark and flooded with emotions even the night can’t obscure. They stay like that for a moment, unspoken words filling the space between them, before Tormund surges forward and claims Jon’s mouth in a bruising kiss. The movement of him sitting up shifts Tormund’s cock deep inside Jon, making Jon groan low into their kiss. His hips start to move on their own, acting instinctively, chasing the burn-pleasure-pain he is craving. Tormund’s hand at his hips wraps around his waist, holding him as close as possible, grinding Jon’s cock against his stomach and creating yet another surge of pleasure pulsing through Jon’s body. His other hand tangles in Jon’s hair, crushing their lips together as Tormund steals the air from his lungs. If this is how Jon is to die, he thinks he is ok with it.

Tormund’s mind was fried long ago. His body has given up listening to him, is simply reacting to Jon in the only way it can, to take more, to take everything until it explodes. When Jon bucks his hips up, rolls against him in that perfect way that he does, Tormund slams him back down, burring himself inside Jon’s heat as far as he can. Their skin slides sweat slick against each other despite the cold night, both men burning from the fire in their veins. Tormund’s lips find Jon’s collarbone, his neck, his shoulder, biting and kissing anywhere they can. When Tormund angles himself just right Jon screams his name into the night, and Tormund wonders if there was ever any music so beautiful. He grabs Jon’s ankles and wraps them around his waist, surging his hips forward and pounding that special place inside Jon again and again, pulling a string of obscenities from his Little Crow’s kiss swollen lips. Jon’s back arches against him, trying to force Tormund deeper, as Tormund’s nails drag red trails down his back.

“Gods Tor I can’t… I need…”

“Tell me Jon… tell me what you need.”

“Gods… I need to feel you… need to feel you cum inside me Wild Thing… need you… need you to fill me… I’m so close… need to feel you…”

Jon’s voice is broken, cracking as every thrust of Tormund’s hips pound inside him. Tormund is shaking underneath him, sweat dripping down his chest to slick Jon’s aching cock where it trembles against Tormund’s stomach, red and dripping and painfully hard.

“Seven hells Jon… you… its to much... I can’t last…”

“Please Wild Thing… cum for me… cum inside me… need to feel it”

Tormund’s blood catches fire as his orgasm burns behind his eyes, coiled tension finally releasing as a shock wave washes over his body, punching out of him as he spills deep inside Jon. As Jon feels Tormund tensing under him, feels him spilling hot and wet inside him, Jon’s own climax crashes down around him, dragging him under, spilling his own cum over Tormund’s stomach. As Jon’s body is racked by wave after wave of pleasure, he squeezes rhythmically around Tormund, prolonging the other man’s orgasm as Jon rides him, unable to stop his hips rocking Tormund’s cock deeper and deeper inside him. Even as the waves of pleasure subside, Jon’s hips continue to rock against Tormund, savouring the feeling of Tormund inside him, filling him, dripping out of him. The smile on Jon’s lips is exhausted, blissfully happy and fucked out gorgeous. Despite having cum merely seconds before, Tormund thinks he could get it up again at the sight of Jon like this; orgasm sensitive, cum covering his stomach, slowly rocking himself in Tormund’s lap. Tormund’s fingers stroke Jon’s hips, running over purple bruises already forming there.

Jon blinks, eyes slowly readjusting to the dark as he comes back down from his orgasm. When his eyes focus, he again finds emerald oceans looking back at him.

“Fucking hell Jon”

Jon’s smile is sheepish, a red blush forming on his cheeks behind the sweat flushed skin. Tormund tilts his head up with a finger under his chin, catching Jon’s lips with his and tasting electricity. Jon smiles against his lips as Tormund deepens the kiss, Jon’s hands finding the back of his neck while his own wrap around the younger man’s waist.

“Where did you learn to talk like that Little Crow?”

Jon chuckles, sending a shiver through his body, so deep Tormund can feel it where he is still pressed inside the other man.

“Clearly you bring out the worst in me wildling.”

They stay like that, wrapped in each other, trading soft kisses as their heartbeats realign, and they breathe the cool night air deep into aching lungs. Slowly, snow begins to float down from the sky, light as air, landing soft as kisses on bare skin. Not a storm, just a light reminder that winter is still with them, wrapping them in its own embrace. Jon’s eyes gaze up, green lights catching on millions of snowflakes dancing on the air, and he wonders how it can be snowing without a cloud in the sky.

“See. I told you Little Crow. The north is welcoming you home.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to everyone for reading. and Thanks even more for the Kudos! Its awesome to know that people actually like something you've written xxx
> 
> There will be more reunions and more characters (and hopefully more plot) to come I promise... these two just have get a few things out of their system first :)


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